


leave you to the flames

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: F/M, Intrigue, Sex, Travels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned joins Nancy while she's on a case in Stockholm, but things aren't going as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave you to the flames

"Might I see your identification, sir."

Ned blinks, caught off balance. The maître d' stands before him in an empty, perfectly still hall, behind a lone podium. The dark parquet floor is polished to a rich glossy shine and Ned's steps echo against it. A burgundy runner draws Ned's gaze to a glass elevator, and a dramatic staircase to its right sweeps to the upper floor, but a velvet rope is in place in front of it, and an elevator operator stands silent and waiting for some signal he apparently hasn't been given. The effect is unnerving. For the first time Ned is glad he went through the headache and trouble of bringing his newest suit on the plane and through customs. He has a feeling he would never have made it this far if he hadn't.

What is more impressive than the room itself—and the room is very impressive; a quietly popping fireplace in the corner lends the otherwise chilly atmosphere a certain degree of heat, and he can easily imagine very elegant couples laughing and drinking here—is the view, and as the maître d' scrutinizes Ned's passport, Ned turns to the window with a practiced casual ease and looks out. The building is a glass tower, shot through with veins of burnished chrome, and through the walls he can see a silver ripple of water between the lazy arc of headlights and streetlamps. He glanced over the map of Stockholm on the way here, but can only remember so much—Södermalm, Mälaren, Djurgården—and can pronounce even less.

The maître d' inclines his chin a quarter inch and the elevator operator shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you." Ned takes his passport back and tucks it into his coat.

There is a certain element, a certain thickness to the air in Europe. Once he stepped out of the airport, Ned had felt the strange intangible weight of it and the cold, the cold, in his eyes, the thin cuff of his ear, the webbing in his fingers. Here the cold radiates through the glass but he barely notices, his greatcoat already folded over his arm. The elevator operator (this is the kind of place that would have one, someone with crisp white gloves to press buttons just because the riders can't be bothered to stretch even another inch and make their own selections) smiles, a thin quirk to his lips that makes it nowhere near his eyes, and gives an understated flourish with his hands to indicate, however obscurely, that they have arrived.

The bar overwhelms the room by its sheer size and grandeur. A bowl of gravity-defying onyx drips gold down to a gleaming marbled horseshoe. Here cream-colored plush carpet muffles his footsteps and groups of low couches take advantage of the spectacular view. The lounge is by no means crowded, but the couples and groups are almost universally blonde haired, pale eyed, and exquisite, speaking a language that, to his unpracticed ear, sounds more like a soothing soundtrack than actual words.

"A drink, sir?"

Ned glances over to the bartender, wondering what exactly screams "American" about him, but in a Nordic country, everything about him seems to.

"Vodka neat."

His drink in hand, Ned surveys the room again. In the corner is one of the more fantastic views and it's there that he finds her.

She dyed her hair blonde for this one. From behind her dress trails a long silk sash, while she's seated it pools an inch on the floor, and when he comes around and sweeps his gaze up and down, he is, as always, entranced what he sees. Her halter dress is tight, pushing her breasts up, reducing her already narrow waist to a slender v, and the dramatic blue brings out her eyes. She's gazing up at him through darkly lashed eyes, her hair swept up into a perfectly elegant twist, although one thick lock of startling blonde keeps escaping. An empty martini glass tilts in the cage of her slender fingers.

"What on earth did you do, what kind of blackmail do you have, to get us in here?"

She pushes herself up and he tosses down his greatcoat and puts down his vodka, pulling her into his arms. She's been on this case for three weeks and phone calls just haven't been enough.

"I..." She chuckles when his lips brush the side of her neck, as he draws her scent in. God, how he's missed her. She feels thinner somehow. His hands trace the curve of her hips and she sways a little on her heels, into him. "I know who did it. But I can't do anything about it."

"That sounds entirely unlike you." Ned's voice is a low rumble against her skin, and then she puts her hand on his shoulder and shoves gently, disengaging his mouth from her neck. She arranges herself carefully and sits again and the waiter comes over as soon as her fingers close around the narrow stem of her empty glass, asking what she would like.

"Aquavit," she says, holding two fingers up.

He tries almost everything the bar offers while she sits beside him, pointing out the buildings, her side pressed against his, warm through his stark white shirt. The aquavit goes down well with beer and the scotch is excellent and she's downing exotic drinks at an impressive, almost breakneck rate, tall frosted glasses full of pale emerald liquid and tequila sunrise and gin fizz, until she, finally, is the one who leans over and kisses him, full on the lips, and their mouths burn from the alcohol.

"I don't even know what the hell the currency is here."

"It's on the house."

Ned's eyes widen. "Really? Because there's this really nice bottle of Johnnie Walker behind the bar..."

He's not thinking straight when they leave the bar, and neither is she, and he's infinitely glad that she can manage to slur out the name of the hotel to the cab driver. He sits back and Nancy slips one arm around his shoulders, and he almost lets out a startled exclamation when her other hand drifts over his lap. His head whips to face hers in shock and he loses his balance, while sitting down in a cab. He didn't even know that was possible.

"It's been almost a month."

He nods, holding her hand in place. "Mind if I wear you inside?"

Her gaze drops to his mouth. Her brow furrows slightly. "No. That sounds really, really great. We probably shouldn't, though, right?"

"What is _in_ that aquavit?"

She kisses his upper lip, slowly. "I don't know but it tastes really good. You taste really good. That guy is gonna kill someone else and I didn't do anything about it."

The taxi stops at a light and Ned pulls back, as her hand gradually stills against his crotch. "What?"

"He has people everywhere." Her mouth is hot against his ear and she doesn't sound sober, not by a mile, but she does sound utterly sure of what she's saying. "I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. But we have to get out of here before he changes his mind."

"Changes his mind and does what?"

She shakes her head. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted.

It shouldn't turn him on nearly as much as it does, this endless fascination she seems to have with flirting with imminent disaster.

\--

They walk into the hotel and she leads him through a labyrinth of corridors and employees-only doors until they're on the street again. They take another two cabs and she strides authoritatively into a high-class hotel, flipping a credit card he's never seen before over the counter, her tongue twisting smoothly into the syllables of an alias. She converses with the receptionist in Swedish with a French accent, until she finally switches fully over to French. _Just one night_ , Ned hears, and doesn't miss the look she shoots at him from over her shoulder.

Then she grabs him by the tie and leads him to the elevator, in full view of the smirking desk clerk.

"What—"

She presses her thumb against his lips and steps in close to him, her body rocking slightly with the motion of the elevator. Her fingers twist possessively in his hair and he slides an arm around her waist, holding her to him as their lips meet, again, again. When the elevator chimes at their floor he lifts her slightly by her slight waist and walks out holding her, their mouths still locked.

At their room, as she slots the key into the electronic lock, he kisses her shoulder, his arms around her waist, and she gives a little breathy sigh. Before she's even all the way inside the room, he's pulling her skirt up. "Careful, careful, these are the only clothes we have. Let me do it," she says, and as she starts to inch the zipper down he unfastens the halter tie and the silky material slithers down, revealing her breasts to him in the faint half-light at the room's entranceway.

He's seen her naked a thousand times. Something about her, pale hair against pale skin, the shimmering blue of her dress that finally slides the rest of the way down, that and the time spent apart and this monstrous, dizzying buzz, heightened a thousand times above the alcohol by her come-hither stare and the briefest scrap of material passing for her panties and the ribbon clasps of her garter belt, gets him.

He backs her into the gleaming surface of the mirror-wall and she shivers when her shoulder blades touch its cold surface, but she's the one who works her way down his shirt with careful fingers, even as her breath hitches and her hips jolt when he hooks his thumbs in the elastic of her panties. She tugs the tails out of his pants and his shirt gaps open as he steps in close, too close, until the warmth of her bare flesh radiates against his. Immediately she has his pants undone and he kicks his shoes off obligingly, tossing his shirt across the room with his undershirt following.

When he looks up she's carefully lain her dress over the back of a chair and is leaning down to slide her feet out of her pumps. As much as he's trembling for it, as much as he wants to rip her panties out of his way and bend her over the chair, he stops himself. Instead he slides out of his own underwear and when she sits down on the edge of the bed, carefully unsnapping the garter ties against the delicate lace that his larger fingers would surely fumble, he sits down behind her, her hips between his thighs, and begins to take the pins out of her hair.

"What were you talking about back there."

In all honesty he can barely remember the words. It's the expression on her face that did it, her certainty that someone is after her. He gently pushes another bobby pin out with his thumb and tosses it in the direction of the dresser, earning an aborted sigh.

"Everything I've told you in the last week has been a lie."

The case was initiated through a friend of her father's who had relocated to Stockholm early in his career. Karen Gregorsson, an employee of Sandiatelecomm, the second largest telecommunications company in the country, had vanished two months before. The police had no leads. The head of the firm, Erick von Kelgstadt, had called Nancy in to see if she could uncover any additional clues.

"You said you had a great lead on her exboyfriend." Ned is sitting cross legged on the bed with Nancy facing him, clad only in her panties, her hair loose and falling in shining wings over her face as she impatiently brushes it back. He barely notices that she's nearly naked—which is mostly a lie, but he's a man, he's used to multitasking, and most of his brain is fixed on her breasts while the rest of it is listening intently to her—and it was the lie thing that did it. She doesn't lie to him. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Nancy sighs. "I did. He was great for it, too. Restraining order on file with the police, a history of domestic abuse, the whole nine yards. Perfect. Insanely perfect. The cops went over him with a fine-tooth comb and he had an alibi—"

"An alibi for what? The entire time since she was missing?"

Nancy shakes her head. "Let me finish."

Von Kelgstadt's middle son, Hank (it was a nickname, he spent a month or so in America in his early youth and Nancy couldn't pronounce his first name properly anyway), hadn't exactly been Karen's supervisor and he had been very concerned and inquisitive about Nancy's case. He had introduced her to Karen's coworkers, who were also very firm about her exboyfriend's involvement, who seemed shocked that the police had not pursued him seriously. His alibi involved being drunk at a bar thirty miles away for most of the weekend.

"Easy enough to fake, right?" She makes a face and crawls toward the head of the bed. Ned catches her hips in his hands, frowning slightly at their narrow shape in his hands, the noticeably flatter plane of her belly, but he hooks his fingers in her panties anyway and she twists, letting him slide them off.

"I'd think so. I can almost see your ribs, I'm ordering us some room service."

"Get them to send up some more aquavit."

He shoots her a loaded glance but orders it anyway, in French, and feels her gaze sliding down his body, warm and direct as a ray of sunlight.

"See something you like?"

She pats the bed next to her. "Come here."

He shakes his head. "I have a better idea."

He pushes the pillows aside and sits down, pulling her into his lap, facing him, and holds her close. Her breasts are pressed against his chest, her knees spread on either side of his hips. She puts her arms around his shoulders and trembles.

"Cold?"

She chuckles and it's a dark, unfamiliar sound. "Yeah."

She went to the police. Of course she went to the police; she was thorough. Gradually, though, even as she went about methodically proving that the ex was responsible, the smaller details stopped fitting.

"Generally in these kinds of cases the guy has a new girlfriend he mistreats, or he's single. He had a girlfriend; he seemed to be pretty happy." There is a careful distance between their laps, if she moves even a touch closer he won't be able to think straight anymore, but it's all he can do to think now. He can smell her, the musky scent of her, and his cock is at full attention. And then she shifts her hips and licks her lips, her gaze distant, and he's a second from sliding his hand from the small of her back to between her legs when the room service arrives.

It's Hank. She knows it's Hank. A beat-up red pickup truck tried to run her off the road; the ex drove a similar vehicle. She found her hotel room trashed soon after she started investigating him. The more certain she became that the ex wasn't responsible, the more serious the threat seemed to become.

"This guy, her ex, who isn't a saint but he isn't Jeffrey Dahmer either, apparently has the kind of friends who wear Saskaan aftershave—and no, I couldn't afford it, trust me—when they threaten me at gunpoint while wearing ski masks? I don't think so. Not him. Von Kelgstadt invites me to stay at his house so I'll be safe, and when I refuse, another hotel room gets torn to shreds." She looks down. "And when I packed what was left I noticed I was missing a pair of underwear. _Dirty_ underwear."

Ned's hand tightens into a fist. The food is already a hard lump in his stomach from the expression on her face.

"You said he fell in with bad people."

"His childhood friends. His father was born into this; their family business started as a radio company. The privileged sons of restauranteurs and bankers, the kinds of kids who can get away with anything they try because their parents have enough sway to get the charges reduced or dropped or changed to a stay in a clinic for 'exhaustion' or some such shit." She twists the cap off the aquavit. Her nipples are points under the thin fabric of his undershirt, which she threw on before he let in the bellhop.

"Has he done this before? Where is Karen now?"

"Dead. Oh God, I know she's dead." Nancy gulps down a shot of aquavit. "I'll never find her. And I'll never know what happened to the ex, to Gunnar, but I know he's dead too."

Ned swipes a hand over his face. "So when you said that he had fled—"

"That's exactly what they wanted me to think. No sign of a struggle at his house. They wanted me to say that he did it and leave all the blame there and get the hell out of the country. The cops left things too open-ended. And then, the next time Hank asks out one of the pretty little secretaries or beginner engineers..."

Ned shakes his head. "What are we going to do?"

She pours him a shot of aquavit to twin hers and they both down them, quickly, and a single clear drop slides down from the corner of her mouth, down to her neck, and he catches it with a fingertip and sucks it off, his gaze rising to hers.

"In the morning we find Karl, my father's friend, who got me into this in the first place. But in the meantime," she says, standing, putting down her glass before stripping his shirt over her head.

They tangle with practiced ease, slowly, one of his hands caught in her hair and the other splayed against her ass, one of her hands at the small of his back and her other hooked up at his shoulder. His tongue dips into the heat of her mouth, the burn of the aquavit and the slide of her own tongue, At the bed he sits down and pulls her to him, pulls her onto the bed to stand on her knees so he can tease her nipples with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his breath. She hisses, arching, when he closes his teeth around one, the tight nub already slick from his tongue, and when she gropes for him and palms his shaft, her thumb stroking down the top, he growls in answer. He won't let her go this time, not easily; the sharp ache in his groin is tight and hot, and he shivers when he catches the scent of her arousal again.

"Baby—"

"I know."

With a relieved sigh he falls back, tugging on one of her ankles. She straddles his shoulders, her elbows on either side of his hips. He hooks his thumbs between her inner lips and parts her, exposing the flushed, rosy flesh between her legs, and a shiver travels down her entire spine. She licks her fingertips and starts at his balls, dragging her finger up from the base of his shaft, and it's his turn to shiver.

"I hate you."

"Mmm-hmm," she replies, and when he slides his thumb between the wet folds of flesh and finds her clit, she rewards him by running her tongue from the head of his cock all the way back down to his balls, slowly, and she whimpers, her hips circling, her knees sliding apart. He keeps the barest edge on his nails just because he loves the sound she makes when he flicks one over the tip of her clit, and she massages the base of his cock, tilting it into position.

With a soft sigh he takes her ass in his hands and urges her down, parting her again, digging his tongue against her clit, sucking it into his mouth, closing his teeth around it ever so gently. She circles the head of his cock with her tongue, in rough wet spirals, and then she takes half his length and her mouth is incredibly hot and wet against his throbbing flesh. She bobs down a little further, a little further, and cups his balls with one hand, her other fingers digging into his hip.

Because she's shaking over him, and he tastes her arousal, the slick pearly heat of her, and she's so wet for him. He slides his tongue into the wet hollow between her thighs and feels her pulse around him, and he arches, slipping a thumb between her lips to frantically stroke her clit as she takes his length fully in her mouth, slow, so painfully slow, and pulls back, and her fingers are wet as she massages the base of his cock, her other hand still fondling his balls.

They match each other stroke for rough stroke, until he has three fingers thrust deep between her thighs and he's suckling her clit hard, feeling her inner flesh pulse hard around him as a hot spike of pleasure so intense that it's pain coils in his balls. He loses his rein and thrusts up, into the wet heat of her mouth, as her hips crash down, her knees wide, toes curling, her inner flesh pulsing in answer around the thrust of his fingers. He wants to flip her over so, so badly and then it's over, then he's spent and sated and her fingers and mouth are slowing on him, the last few aftershocks radiating through her hips as her orgasm peaks and begins to fall.

He tilts his head back, gasping for breath. "Nan," he manages, chuckling when she lets out a little moan, his stubble brushing her sensitive flesh.

"Yeah," she agrees, rolling off him.

\--

She would look serene to anyone else. She's been threatened before and not even broken a sweat; she's been in awful traps (he remembers being tied up with her in the back of a sinking van, for one) and managed to keep her head. But he went to sleep with her in his arms and woke with her in his arms, woke with her hands on him and her mouth on his neck and soft begging pleas for his cock, for his weight, for him to be rough when he fucked her. He left hickeys on the undersides of her breasts, fingermark bruises on her hips that make his brow crease in remorse even now, and he used every trick, every memory of her to draw out her orgasm. She mounted him as his finger dug between her thighs, stroking her clit with an irregular rhythm, and he strained against her as she released one rough gasping cry, then another, her hips circling and rocking against his, his cock swelling and finally releasing deep inside her as she fucked him.

He knows she won't break in his arms, that he can't truly be too rough for her, but she's too thin, the circles under her eyes too prominent.

"Thank you for seeing us."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ned."

Ned shakes hands with Karl Stromm, carefully gauging the other man's grip, the benevolent expression on his face as he looks at Nancy. While Karl's old enough to be her father, of course, they have been fooled by such things before, and he's the man who brought her here. Ned knows there are things she isn't telling him yet, that she's anticipating his anger and trying to head it off. That there are worse things. Not much puts her in a cold sweat.

She sits down, her hands clasped between her knees. She's in white, her hair pulled back into a loose knot. Ned's vacation wardrobe seems to consist entirely of cable knits and jeans, with a few cashmere sweaters thrown in - he expected this to be all skiing, maybe a few nice dinners over candlelight with his girl. If they keep moving in these circles, he'll have to find a Hugo Boss outlet and upgrade.

While Nancy begins the delicate diplomatic dance of finding out more about von Kelgstadt, Ned's gaze wanders around the room. While he was fulfilling his undergrad elective hours at Emerson, he stumbled through a few bizarre classes, Intro to Architecture being one of them. Stockholm is an odd amalgamation. During their cab rides he's seen Gothic architecture, revival, late-90s modern, glass palaces and baroque mansions, functional apartment blocks and starkly industrial warehouses.

The library is impressive for a private collection. With the brush of his fingers over Nancy's shoulder blades, which she acknowledges with a warm glance, Ned is up and studying the built-in bookshelves, the careful disorganization. It's a woman's touch, the spines of the books horizontal and arranged by height and color, a handful of amber marbles in a glass bowl without a speck of dust marring the translucence, a pressed flower he doesn't recognize.

Stromm is frowning thoughtfully when Ned returns. "There's one person who might be able to help you," he says. "Marie Lebois. She was the executive secretary for a long time, but was forced out a few years ago."

\--

"Thank you for coming."

Nancy has her head cradled on Ned's shoulder, her hand on his knee and his own hand over hers. Through the cold window beside them the landscape is washed in blue, the sun having vanished. His toes ache with the cold still, and he brushes the remains of a fringe of snow from Nancy's temple.

Ned leans in, kissing her temple, her earlobe. "What can I say, you're addictive after a while," he teases her, earning a gentle elbow in his ribs.

She's working hard at hiding her disappointment. Visiting Mrs. Lebois was a waste of time, a train ride out into the country, taking a cab and trudging through the snow until they found the right house. Marie Lebois looked like she could be a warm enough woman, under the right circumstances. But as soon as Nancy tortured her way through Hank's given name, Marie's face had closed.

"What I can't figure out is why Karl would have given you her name."

Nancy shrugs. She's still shivering. The wind chill is insane here, and waiting on the platform had chilled them both to the bone. Ned slides out of his coat and puts his arms around her, drawing her close. She picked over a salad at lunch, protesting that she wasn't hungry, that she just wanted to get to Mrs. Lebois's house. Now her slender frame trembles against his and, unbidden, the image of her naked, her mouth wet and hot on his skin as she trails kisses down—

He shakes his head.

"I'm an outsider," she says softly. "They can tell. The hair," she tosses her head and the tips of her hair brush his lips and that sends a jolt straight below his belt, "just makes me less noticeable in crowds. That's all."

"So von Kelgstadt knew that you wouldn't get anywhere, and that if you did, you'd just end up going down the path he'd already laid for you."

She nods. "And if he was someone else, someone with fewer connections? This would have been over with a week ago. We could be skiing right now."

"Not right now." He bends to whisper in her ear again. "Right now we would be drinking champagne over a candlelit dinner. Then you'd take me upstairs and show me something in black lace that you'd picked out just for me—"

She presses her thumb over his lips. "Your fantasies are always the same."

"Not true. Sometimes it's red."

She rolls her eyes. "Whoever took her place at the company might be a good lead," she says, already thinking about the case again, and Ned groans.

"What?"

"All I can think about is getting you naked and all _you_ can think about is finding another lead."

She presses her lips together and he expects a sharp retort, a verbal slap. Instead she turns and looks him straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

Ned is stunned into speechlessness for a good thirty seconds. "What?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. This is your vacation and—"

He stops her the same way she had stopped him, with his thumb over her lips. "No, this is where you say 'I'm almost finished with the case, just another day tops and we can find some romantic ski resort, totally mystery-free, and have crazy sex for the next week.'"

That same indescribable look passes over her face again. "As soon as I finish this case, if not before, we are getting the hell out of here. Back to the U.S. We can go to upstate New York or Big Bear, wherever, but we are getting out of here."

"Are you really that afraid of him?"

Her blue eyes blaze fire. "He thinks he's above the law, Ned. I haven't figured out a way yet to get him _or_ his son to pay for what they've done. Karen is dead. Gunner is dead. If he figures out that I'm standing in his way, he's not going to hesitate to take me out. I have to strike hard and get the hell out of his reach before I do it."

\--

Everywhere he's ever been, Ned has been able to find Chinese takeout. Stockholm is no exception. They sort through the paper cartons in the cab, their fingers trembling from the cold.

"Are we staying at the hotel tonight?"

She shakes her head. "No. No. When we go back in let's eat and then have a fight, and you storm out, pick a B&B in one of the suburbs and leave the next number in the phone book as a note for our room."

"You think they have the room bugged?"

"He has to." The cellophane wrappers of the fortune cookies crinkle under her fingers. "There's too much at stake. He'll call me and I'll put him off. I might have to ditch my cell."

"Be careful."

She smiles and it's a weak smile. "Yeah. You too."

Their fight is so familiar that they barely can look at each other. The script is the same as it always is. He doesn't take it as far as he usually did, before, when it seemed like they had this fight at least once a week ( _if you had to choose it wouldn't be me, would it_ ) but when he storms out, chancing a look back at her, she seems so small, so wounded, her face a legitimate angry red and her blue eyes shining with tears, that he almost turns back. The last image he has of her is her fingers at her wrist, tapping her watch, her lashes thick and wet.

He flips through the phone book and finds a B&B, quickly, calls to make sure that it has a vacancy, and takes the additional step of putting his note to her in a familiar code. 

The room they have available when he gets there is small; it's mostly a bed and dressers and a television set, a small fireplace with a smaller supplemental radiator, a small modern bathroom with matte rounded-square fixtures and a drip shower head. He's not sure why, but in the time it takes her to arrive, the time he spends unpacking his things in the bathroom and carefully building and stoking the wood in the corner fireplace, the time it takes for him to finally fully warm up after the terrible bone-penetrating cold, he's on edge. If she's ditched her cell phone and gets grabbed, he'll never find her.

When she walks in, her hair flying and her face red from the cold, he takes her bags and she immediately crosses to the fire, briskly rubbing her hands together. "I had an idea—"

She stops when she turns and sees the look on his face. The flames reflect on the back of her slacks, dancing, licking the air. She lets her hands fall to her sides.

"What was your idea?"

She speaks slowly, still eyeing him. "There's a guy who handles von Kelgstadt's under-the-table stuff. He might have records or proof or something. Something. It's—I mean, I have to find out where and we have to be in really good disguises—"

"And you think this is the best way?"

"I don't know," she admits, turning back to the fire. The flames reflect on her outstretched hands, the blade of her palms. "I don't know what the best thing to do is anymore. I just feel like I have to do _something_."

He nods. When he sits down in front of the fire and takes her hand, pulling her down to join him, she sinks to her knees, then sits down. He wants to pull her into his arms, to wrap himself around her. She's still shivering.

His mouth is dry when he whispers, "What is it that's been bothering you, Nan?"

She opens her mouth and closes it again, pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it tumble loose down her shoulders. The cuffs of her ears are red from the wind. The muscles in her throat work as she swallows.

His hand is still, almost clammy over hers. There's not enough room to pace, not enough room to leave themselves some space to breathe.

Ned swallows. "Are you pregnant?"

She looks down and then she has her head tipped back, her jaw clenched, her hair falling down her back. She hates crying, he's never seen her voluntarily cry, and when he gently takes her chin and tilts her head back down, her face toward his, two tears slide down her cheeks.

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" He hears his voice rising and shuts his mouth for a second.

She twists her hands in her lap. "I took a test when I'd been here a week. It came back negative."

"Are you sick?"

She shrugs, another pair of tears slipping down her cheeks. "I had that stomach bug before I left, remember? I was wondering whether I might have accidentally thrown up the pill. And... a baby?"

He wants to, but he can't look away from her face. The ghost of a smile crosses her lips. "He won't stop, Ned. He'll get us both and make it look like an accident."

"Could the test be wrong? Are..." Ned dry-washes his face. "All that we drank—"

She shrugs. "If I'm fucked, I'm already fucked. I have never felt so trapped and desperate in my life. It's like falling into a spiderweb. And I... I had this picture in my head of how I would tell you. In blue silk, over champagne."

"So you had the blue silk and the cocktails, but..."

She starts to get up. "Come to bed."

He stays seated. "Not yet. Tell me the rest."

She looks down at him and, biting her lip, through obvious discomfort, she wriggles out of her sweater, reaches for the fastening of her pants. He stands and, once she steps out of her pants, puts his hands on her waist, holding her still.

"Tell me the rest."

"Von Kelgstadt invited me to a social event, a sort of get to know everyone thing. Dress, drinks. That's what I bought the dress for. I knew you'd like it." She looks down at one of her bags. "Just give me a second."

He holds her wrist, gently, firmly. "Then what happened."

She brings one hand up and her palm cups his cheek, her thumb stroking gently. "Hank danced with me. He was... he—"

"He likes you." Ned's smile holds absolutely no humor. "They always like you."

"And I know what happened to the last woman he liked."

Ned exhales, slowly. "Okay. It's okay. I'm here now. He won't—"

She sucks in a hard breath, her brows knit. "But he _will_. I wanted you here, I wanted you to be here with me so much, but I'm so afraid that this isn't going to be enough, that I'm just going to take you down with me—"

"Nan!" He takes her shoulders. "It's not like that—"

"You don't understand!" She wrenches away from him. "If he wants us dead, we will die. We _will_. I've heard too much, seen too much—"

"Then we'll make sure he doesn't."

She looks down. "What if the test was wrong."

Her words send his stomach straight to the floor. "Then we'll just have to be extra careful," he says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Does it change that much?"

She shoots him an incredulous glance. "It changes everything."

He rubs his hands up and down her bare arms. "Get in bed. You're shivering."

"Not yet."

She changes in the bathroom and he slides out of his clothes, hissing at the cold. The boards are cool under his bare feet. The air doesn't feel so cold except to bare skin. The sheets are so cold they burn and he stretches out, waiting for her to return, barechested, in his underwear.

A baby. Her. A baby. Ned's eyes pop open and he glares up at the ceiling. He can't think about it. If he lets himself think about it, the same fear that has consumed her will consume him. One of them has to be able to think straight.

A baby. Everything about them, everything about their lives will change if she is pregnant. She can't be this, can't go off to another country for three weeks to investigate a missing persons case, if a baby is waiting for her back home. She can't take the risks that she does.

He closes his eyes, his face flushing even in the chill, and when he opens his eyes again she's standing beside the bed, in a red lace nightgown that skims the top of her thighs, a half-smirk on her face. She slides in beside him, wincing at the cold, and he pulls her to him, her skin cool where it touches his.

"Surely this isn't for my benefit."

"Right, it was just so warm."

She puts her head on his shoulder. Her fingers trace his other shoulder, down the line of his chest, the cool ball of her thumb brushing his nipple. Her fingertips sweep down over his abs, bumping his waistband. She draws a slow teasing line over the elastic until his hand catches hers.

With a soft sigh she swings over him, straddling his waist. Her gaze flicks almost nervously up to his. In answer he slides his hands under the hem of her gown, skimming his fingers up her hips. She's naked under the red lace; her breasts stretch the fabric, her nipples hard points beneath, and she kisses him gently at first, her knees sliding apart, and he squeezes her ass.

"Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not. I'm not." He tilts her face with a thumb on her chin and she presses her hips down, grinding against his erection through his boxers. He releases a muffled groan as she kisses his neck, and he pushes her thighs apart and pushes his boxers down until his cock is free, and immediately she is grinding against him again, the slick flesh of her inner lips stroking up and down his shaft. He thrusts his hips once and grabs the hem of her gown, pulling it up, over her head, and she whips her arm and the gown hits the floor and her mouth is on his again.

"Nan. Nan."

She can do this forever, and he knows it, she can tilt the angle of her hips so that the tip of his cock is lined up just right and she can grind against him, nudging her clit against him, until she's shuddering. He slides his hand down between them, quick between her thighs and she lets out a little mewling cry, her tongue in his mouth. He fingers her until his skin is slick with her arousal, then grabs her thigh, arresting her hips. He angles his cock and releases her and she immediately takes him in, breaking off their kiss, letting out a long pleased sigh. He digs his fingers against her clit and she bucks against him, biting her lip, her face flushing.

"Now?"

"Not yet," she sighs, and her brows knit, her mouth falling open as she takes him, her inner flesh wet and tight against him as she slides up and down his cock, and when he squeezes her clit between thumb and forefinger she drops the crown of her head to his chest, letting out a cry, fucking him harder in return. He thrusts his hips in time with hers, and then she bites his earlobe and he sucks on her neck just under her ear, all the time their hips undulating, hard, harder. His hand starts to cramp and he pulls it away and she pushes herself up on the heels of her hands, her breasts bouncing as she rises, tossing her hair back from her flushed cheeks as she takes his full length.

Then she slides her hand down and he feels her tense and shiver, sees her gasp, her head fall as she touches her clit. He pulls her other hand to his mouth and sucks her fingers, and when she switches hands, brushing her wet fingers, slick with her arousal, over his lips, he pulls her index finger into his mouth and grabs her hips, her taste on his tongue, and at the apex of her thrust he rolls over with her, thrusting savagely as soon as her ass hits the mattress.

Her hand works frantically against her clit, fingers scissoring around his cock as she digs her thumb against the wet button of flesh between her thighs, and she throws her head back as he thrusts, again, shaking with the effort it takes to hold off his climax. She makes that sound, the sound like she's about to cry, so much pleasure that it's pain, and her shoulders jerk up and her breasts shake and he pinches one of her nipples hard, she's so wet that his thrusts are audible, and she comes, _hard_ , her hips jerking up under his and her body shaking, so tight and hot and slick against his cock and her heels dig into the small of his back as she pulls him home and he _comes_ , releasing his own groan, falling to the pillow beside her.

She shifts her legs. Her thighs are slick with sweat against his hips and she pulls her hand from between them, hissing a little. She brushes a kiss over his collarbone.

He realizes, as he begins to drift off to sleep, that he's finally warm.

\--

She gets on the phone while he's in the shower and discovers that von Kelgstadt's fixer is named Spradich, and that he's having a Christmas party at his estate, thirty minutes outside Stockholm. It's convenient, on the train line.

She tells him as he's toweling his hair dry. She has her panties back on and a shirt tossed over them and the room is actually warm, from the fire that was burning all night, from the memory of her and the steam from his shower. She leaves him with a few names to call while she's in the shower and by the time she reaches the bathroom door, she's naked. Her frame is still too spare, he can vaguely remember being able to feel the points of her hips the night before, and he hears the water come on and thinks, _false negative_ —

Karl Stromm isn't available the first time Ned calls, but he calls back just before Nancy opens the bathroom door. Ned uses some finesse and Stromm ends up asking if he and Nancy want to come to the party that night.

"What happens if we don't find anything there?" Ned asks when he hangs up.

She fastens her bra and adjusts her breasts and he forgets anything he's ever thought. "We will," she says, sounding more sure than she has since he arrived. "I need a new dress. Think you can run an errand for me?"

He dips his head. "Anything."

\--

Her aubergine dress is strapless and so structured that the back drapes down, open, into an incredibly deep v, revealing her spine, the smooth perfect ivory of her back. The skirt is a clinging column slit halfway up her thigh. Ned has always been amazed at that strange inversion, how the more beautiful a dress is on her, the more he wants it off. Her wrist is circled in paste diamonds and her hair gleams and only that slight wavering in her smile lets him know that she isn't entirely the cool, collected woman she appears to be.

He's in his crisp coal black and snow white, the same suit he wore to meet her in that glass and chrome bar, his pleats sharp and his cheeks shaved glass-smooth. The way she keeps eyeing him, he has the feeling that his outfit is having nearly the same effect on her, as hers does on him.

"Ready?"

She shakes her head. There's more color in her cheeks, but she's always been good with makeup.

The shrubbery and trees are all festooned in tiny golden pinpricks of light. She keeps a heavy hand on his arm as they stride up the walk together, her heels digging for purchase on the slick surface of the ice. There won't be any running from this, but then he didn't expect there to be.

He hates her plan. It would be hard for him to hate her plan more.

What strikes him as soon as he walks through the door, as soon as Nancy gently guides him over to a man in a nice suit and a rather flamboyant tie, is the chill in his eyes, in the eyes of the man who is clearly his son. Hank's eyes are coolly speculative, and though he has his arm around the slender waist of a woman with flax-blonde hair, soon he's at Nancy's elbow.

The man makes his skin crawl. His son is worse. Ned didn't expect them to grant him any respect whatsoever, given Hank's obvious interest in Nancy, but that doesn't make his blood boil any less, doesn't make his grip any less tight on Nancy's hip.

"How are you enjoying Stockholm?"

"It's wonderful," Ned says, feeling Nancy's hip brush his. "Such a beautiful city, and so many different styles."

Von Kelgstadt smiles, but there's a wariness about his eyes. "Have you met the host of this party?"

As soon as he can, Ned excuses himself to the bar, where he opts for an aquavit, then another. The patio is open, complete with heaters, but the air is so brittle that it rakes its way down the throat in shards. Ned makes a few wrong turns, but finds a room that looks a lot like a study and quietly closes the door behind him.

The email account he pulls up first is a dead end. He shuffles through a few random papers, the desk drawers, even the preprogrammed numbers on the man's desk phone. He never expected to see a snapshot of the two shaking hands over a crate full of AK-47s, but in all his time helping Nancy with cases, there's always been something, some slip, some overlooked incriminating evidence.

Downstairs, he feels sure, that oily bastard has his hands on Nancy. Anger is boiling in his blood. The faster he finds something, the faster he can get back to her.

"Can I help you?"

Ned's first instinct is to duck, but of course it's too late. When he sees the gun in Spradich's hand, he holds his hands up above his head, moving away from the desk. "Probably," he replies. "Just checking to see if you had anything to do with Karen Gregorsson's death."

Spradich's lips quirk in a very small smile. "Thought that was all on Gunner."

"It was," Ned agrees.

Spradich reaches for his phone without taking his gaze off Ned. "Erick. We have an issue up in my office."

"So you're saying that you didn't."

"Why don't we wait."

Ned sighs and takes a seat, locking his hands behind his head. Within a minute von Kelgstadt comes in and closes the door behind him, and Ned tries not to think about Nancy.

"This is the man who came in with Miss Drew."

Von Kelgstadt nods at the slight question in Spradich's voice. "And he was up here searching? Ahh. So that didn't work as well as we'd thought."

"You mean implicating Gunner instead of letting your son pay for what he did?"

Von Kelgstadt speaks through clenched teeth. "What happened with that girl was an _accident_. My son has the rest of his life ahead of him."

"And how many times will it take before it's not an 'accident' anymore?" Ned feels like he's not entirely in his body anymore. "What happened with Gunner, that was an accident too?"

Von Kelgstadt and Spradich exchange glances. Spradich jerks the muzzle of the gun. "Over here. That rug's imported and I don't want to have to clean your blood off it."

Ned begins to inch around the desk. "Where does that leave Nancy? You think this won't make her suspicious?"

"If you're here then she is already suspicious. Don't worry, Mr. Nickerson, she'll be joining you soon. Come on, get a move on." Spradich jerks the muzzle of the gun again, motioning him to go faster.

Ned shakes his head. His hands are sweating. "No."

Spradich gives a dramatic sigh. "Fine. It will give my dry cleaner something to do."

Ned glances over at von Kelgstadt. "She wasn't the first, was she."

Von Kelgstadt gives Ned a tight smile. "Let me help you with this. Nancy? She won't be seen after tonight. My son has a definite interest in her, and once he tires of her, after a week or so..."

"Why even bring her here at all?"

Von Kelgstadt blinks. "So she could find the holes, of course."

"The holes in your ridiculous cover story?"

Spradich starts to cross the study toward Ned, as von Kelgstadt nods. "Of course."

"Weren't you worried that she'd tell someone when she got suspicious?"

"You mean other than you? She hasn't." Von Kelgstadt smiles. "We've been thorough."

Spradich reaches Ned and starts to pat him down, and Ned flinches when his hand drifts over the pocket containing his cell phone. He pulls it out and peers at it.

"And who did you call?"

"Who do you think?" Ned smirks, and when the gun flashes up he ducks, missing most of the blow. Just then the door swings open and Nancy tumbles inside, Hank's arm around her waist, a lecherous grin on his face.

"You want another charge? Go for it." Nancy's panting, but the expression in her blue eyes is triumphant. She turns to Hank. "And if you touch me one more time I swear to God I will put this heel through your fucking forehead."

\--

The path is set. The car is waiting for them, and they go straight to the airport for their chartered plane. A stop in London later and they're in the air. They haven't had a chance to change, and Nancy is nestled into Ned's suit coat, her head on his shoulder. His bruise is just starting to color.

In New York they switch planes for Chicago and Nancy calls her father while they're waiting to board. "How did it go?"

"As much as it pains me to say this, I think Stromm was involved. He sent you to Marie Lebois because he wanted to see what your suspicions were and he knew she was still loyal to von Kelgstadt."

Nancy rubs her forehead. "I'm still shocked we made it out of there."

"I told my government connection about what was going on. He seemed very eager to dig in. Good work, Nan."

Ned slides his arm around her. "Thanks, Dad," she sighs, closing her eyes.

"So, no more Sweden for a while."

Nancy smiles wryly as she puts her phone away. "Not for a while. So, where did you want to go? I think I still owe you a vacation."

He looks down at her dress. The aubergine silk is wrinkled, her heels are on the carpet beside her bare feet, and her hair is curling loose around her shoulders.

"Rain check," he says. "I say we go home and sleep for a few days, go to the doctor and get you feeling better, and then I see what you look like under that dress."

"The same way I look under any dress," she says, chuckling.

"Shh. Don't ruin the surprise."

She puts her head on his shoulder again. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

She slides her hand into his and he squeezes it. "What if the doctor says..."

She trails off. "What if the doctor says," he repeats back, tilting his head so his cheek is against the crown of her head. "We're alive. Anything the doctor says, I'll be happy."

She nestles against him. "Love you," she murmurs, her body going limp with exhaustion.

"Love you too," he whispers.


End file.
